


To Follow The Phoenix

by LonelyGoatling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Nineteen Years Later, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue, Resurrection, Reveal, Romance, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyGoatling/pseuds/LonelyGoatling
Summary: The war was won. Voldemort was dead. And now Harry, facing the realisation that he could actually have a normal life, finds himself facing a new type of challenge the likes of which he's never known.Secrets and stories will be shared. Relationships will be explored. Careers will be built. Old friends will be found. And life will never be the same again.A story covering the full nineteen year gap between the final chapter and the Epilogue of Deathly Hallows. Diverges from canon a little later on—not so much as to have implications on the 19 years later epilogue—due to a resurrection plot line, but don't worry; it actually makes sense.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing for many years now, since I was a little girl, but haven't ever written Harry Potter fanfiction seriously after reading the books as a child. After watching the Deathly Hallows not long ago, though, my passion for the series was resparked... and so here we are!
> 
> This fic is going to be massive. It is going to cover the entirety of the nineteen year gap, and then maybe some. There will not be any sexual content, however there will be references and, when the time does arise, the sex scenes will be published elsewhere should you wish to read them. This fic will diverge slightly from canon also in order to explore the plot line of resurrection as well, but it won't have an effect on the final, 19 years later epilogue.
> 
> I am looking forwards greatly to sharing this massive journey with everyone! A word of caution—I'm British, so I will be writing in British English. If a few spelling differences bother you, then I must apologise.
> 
> So, without further ado, let's get this new adventure started...

There was a brief period of silence, even the wind seeming to freeze in time at the sight of Voldemort's downed body. Nobody—neither the Death Eaters, nor the fighters for the Light, nor even the giants and the acromantula—dared to take a breath, as if afraid doing so would trigger some catastrophic event. And then there was uproar.

The Death Eaters vanished in clouds of black smoke, apparating away almost immediately. But none of the remaining fighters could have cared less at that moment, instead lost in the excitement. They screamed their jubilation and swarmed upon their saviour en masse. It was a scene of utter chaos, and yet it was so full of joy and relief.

Only one person had not yet reacted. Harry Potter stood, dazed, staring down almost blindly at the unmoving corpse before him. Tom Riddle was dead. Gone. Finished. And yet, though the evidence was irrefutable this time and lay right before his very eyes, it just wouldn't sink in.

"Harry!"

That was enough to snap him out of his stupor. Harry turned, slowly, the voices of his two best friends all he could hear. They smashed into him excitedly, their arms wrapping around him heavily so that he gasped, clawing weakly at them until he could escape. He took a sharp inhale and gave the smallest chuckle imaginable.

"You did it, Harry!" the bushy haired witch cried, clinging onto him once again. "You really did it! He's gone!"

"He did. Nice one, mate!" yelled the second, a ginger-haired young man who had barely left Harry's side since he rejoined the wizarding world. That was almost seven years prior, now. So much had changed.

As the rest of the crowd barrelled closer, Harry gave another weak smile. "I guess I did, 'Mione, Ron," he murmured, his voice too quiet to hear over the screaming.

A wave of fatigue suddenly washed over him and he let out a breath. His legs went wobbly and unsteady as the reality finally—finally—hit him.

It was over. After decades of fighting, and a life marred from Voldemort's influence, it was over.

Harry cringed as the jubilant crowd reached out to him desperately, arms flung over and groping every part of his body. He quickly stepped closer to his friends' sides, letting Ron and Hermione shield him from at least some of the hands. But there were a few faces that he wasn't so upset to see.

Another redhead barged her way through, staring up at Harry with massive, watery brown eyes. Close behind two more followed; a tall, blonde man stepped forwards, a confident smirk on his face, with a small, silvery-haired girl at his shoulder who smiled quietly, her head slightly cocked to the side as she stared forwards. Harry gave the latter pair a small, tired nod—but he only had eyes for one, really.

"Ginny…" he breathed, a wave of relief flooding his body as he looked back down into the redheaded witch's eyes. He stepped forwards ever so slightly, but suddenly found her knocked towards him by the excitedly scrambling crowd. They both yelped, her weight shunting him backwards into Ron and Hermione.

For perhaps the first time in the last nine months, the group's laughter was truly genuine. For they knew that now, though it was long overdue, they would finally be able to live without the unending fear that they had all grown accustomed to; that they had grown up with; that had forced them to age well beyond their years.

Because the war was over, and a new era had begun. An era of peace and safety.

There would be long conversations ahead. There would be mourning and grief and heartache, too. Harry's mind momentarily drifted to the soulless bodies of the brave soldiers who had fought to make this newly found peace possible. There had been so many, from both sides, and that was at just this battle alone. It was a tragedy, an event that would go down in Wizarding history and never be forgotten.

But there would be time for sorrow and remembrance later. They had all the time in the world. But now? Well, now they were content to just stay with each other, rejoicing with their comrades at the long awaited victory that so many had made the biggest sacrifice to achieve.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're here? Awesome, I'm so glad to hear that you're still interested after reading the prologue! Welcome to Chapter One for To Follow The Phoenix. This chapter is something of a summary and then continuation of where The Deathly Hallows left Ginny. To keep as close to the canon events as possible, a few of the lines from this chapter have been borrowed from The Deathly Hallows, with small edits, so anything you recognise was probably written by JK Rowling, not me!

_But there would be time for sorrow and remembrance later. They had all the time in the world. But now? Well, now they were content to just stay with each other, rejoicing with their comrades at the long awaited victory that so many had made the biggest sacrifice to achieve._

**...**

"He looks exhausted, doesn't he?"

Silence was all that met Ginny Weasley's whispered words. The chaos in the Hogwarts Great Hall had calmed now, but even so, everyone was still so desperate to thank Harry for all that he had done. The word "thank" felt wrong, even just in her mind; harass was more like it.

He looked like a dead man walking—that held more meaning now, given the events of the last few hours—and seemed to be hauling himself around merely out of a sense of duty. He was pale and emaciated and though he tried to smile, the furrows in his brow were visible and made him look like an old man. He stumbled as he walked, trying to mask it when he could by bending down next to someone to ask if they were alright, or to tie his shoelace, or to pick up his wand which he had not dropped in the first place. Whether other people bought his little act or not, Ginny couldn't be sure—he was hardly a good actor, though he had perhaps improved a little—but she did not believe a moment of it.

With a sigh, she turned to her companion. "Luna," she said slowly, more forcibly, nudging the silver-haired girl's shoulder gently. When Ginny finally caught her attention, she continued with, "Have you seen Harry? He looks like he's about to collapse. Everyone's trying to congratulate him, but it's just… It's just making things so much worse. Can't they see he's exhausted?"

Luna's quietly observant eyes trailed over to where Harry was now kneeled. He was currently bent down next to the heavily wounded centaur who lay at the head of the hall, talking quietly with him about Lord-Knows-What. "Firenze is having difficulty, too," Luna murmured. "I think we could all do with a little less excitement right now, wouldn't you say?"

Ginny nodded. "How on Earth do we distract everyone for long enough to let Harry get out of here, though?" she asked, looking at the group that had clamoured around him. They seemed to be trying to be conspicuous, not facing him and talking with each other in small groups—and yet they followed him like little, lost puppies every time he moved.

"Don't worry, Ginny," Luna said, pushing herself up to her feet. She then looked pointedly over to the group of Weasleys who had congregated at one of the half-destroyed house tables. "Your mother looks like she would appreciate some female companionship over there."

Ginny looked up and moved her head to look backwards slightly. Her eyes met with her mother's briefly. She turned back quickly, though, and returned her expression to Harry. "But—" she began.

Luna shook her head. "Go see your mother, Ginny," she said, taking a step back. "Don't worry. I'll help Harry."

Ginny hesitated for a moment before she sighed and slouched. She then groggily pushed her aching body up and said, "Okay, Luna. Thanks."

Luna smiled, giving a quick wave as Ginny (somewhat reluctantly) turned to join the rest of her family. "No problem. I owe him help anyway. If he hadn't helped me at Malfoy Manner, I am certain that Ollivander, Dean, Griphook and I would all be dead by now," she said.

Ginny frowned at her friend's blunt words but nodded, the gears slowly turning in her mind. Luna merely smiled as if she had not just mentioned her own near-death so casually and, after watching her friend settle down across the hall, she then wandered closer to where Harry was currently struggling. She sat down on one of the benches, hearing the slight creak as she put her weight on it. She then met his dark, heavy eyes silently and patted the seat next to her; he seemed to brighten ever so slightly at the invitation and wandered closer, his legs giving out when he made to sit down.

Harry sighed loudly and buried his head in his hands. All the while his followers silently inched closer, trying to still look innocent. Luna didn't believe them, though.

"I'd want some peace and quiet, if it were me," she said. She watched as Harry's head rose slowly, as if pulled up by a string.

"I'd love some," he replied, his voice quiet and slow and somewhat croaky. Sat where she was now, Luna could really understand why Ginny was so worried about him. He needed a break immediately.

"You need to sleep. You look awful." she said. "Have you got your cloak still?"

Harry nodded numbly. "I can't just disappear in the middle of all this, though," he said, gesturing to the onlookers who were watching less-than-discretely from the corners of their eyes.

Luna smiled. "Don't worry, I'll distract them all," she said. "Just use your cloak."

Before he could say a word, Luna had jumped to her feet so that she was stood atop the table. Uncharacteristically loudly, she then cried, "Oh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!" and pointed out of the broken window excitedly. Almost all of the gathered people looked around, and the ones who didn't turn could not see past their friends anyway.

Harry didn't need any more encouragement; he slid the Cloak up over his head and, crouching slightly so that it fully covered him, clambered to his sore feet. He let out a breath of relief and began to move through the Great Hall without any interference. All the while, from her spot at the other side of the hall, Ginny watched until he vanished from sight, her head resting gently upon her mother's shoulder. She shuddered at one point, and she could almost feel Harry's eyes boring into hers. There was so much to be said; so much to ask and to tell. But for now, he needed to rest.

Ginny watched idly as Ron and Hermione started quietly from their seats, and then kept her gaze on them as they stood and began to make their way towards the half-charred doors to the Great Hall. They left quietly, and she smiled ever so slightly when she noticed that the heavy door remained open for just a few seconds longer than it should have.

Ginny let out a small breath. She then returned her gaze to Luna, who had now slunk away from the groups of people, and gave a smile when the girl sat next to her.

"Good job," she said, wrapping her free arm around her friend's shoulders. "He needs that time alone."

Luna nodded. "I think we all need some time to adjust," she stated. "It has been a long day."

Ginny gave a small, humourless laugh. She felt her mother shift slightly beside her, a small sniffle escaping her. "Yeah, you could say that," she murmured, then slouching. After a few moments of silence, she let her gaze trail over the rest of her family. They all sat quietly, not talking, not looking at each other. Arthur and Molly and Percy and George—but no Fred.

Ginny made a sudden, involuntary gasp and hunched her back, shaking her head quickly. Her body shuddered and a few tears leaked from her eyes as the thought of Fred's dead body invaded her mind; the sight of him laying cold on the floor next to Remus and Tonks, staring directly upwards with empty eyes and that cruel ghost of a smile upon his face.

Ginny groaned and buried her head in her arm. Her mind wandered to a conversation she had once had with Harry; about how he had talked to Nick after Sirius' death, and about how only those scared to move on came back as a ghost.

Ginny whimpered again. She wished so badly that she would look up now to see a crystalline, semi-transparent form of her brother floating through those broken doors, laughing jovially and making a joke about the gravity of the whole situation—at which point, everyone would give teary laughs and engulf him in a ghostly, chilling hug. And everyone would be okay.

But Fred was gone. And he was braver than most. He wouldn't be so cowardly as to come back to the world; he would have carried on to whatever came next, embracing the afterlife with all the happiness he could have.

She sniffled, cuddling up closer to her mother. Could he see her now? Could he see her distress? What would he be saying to her if he could?

Ginny grimaced. If she knew her brother—and she did—he would be disappointed at this. He'd be telling them to stop moping, telling them to get on with it. He'd make some pun, and it would be so ironic that everyone would almost smile.

But he didn't say anything from the afterlife, and that just made it worse.

Somewhere in the distance, some structure or other fell apart with a dull rumble. Undisturbed, Peeves floated around the corridors lazily outside the Great Hall, signing some cheery song he'd obviously not spent much time thinking on:

"We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter's the one,  
And Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!"

For the first time in her school life, Ginny realised that, actually, Peeves wasn't such a waste of space after all. Naughty poltergeist though he was, right now, he was exactly what everyone needed. The poorly composed song managed to bring a few smiles to the faces of the gathered, battle-weary people. She, herself, relaxed slightly at the sound of the off-key lyrics.

It had been so long since she had heard happy singing. Years, maybe.

Ginny sighed and sat up straighter, running her hands through her hair. She cringed, the grime and rubble and dust making the usually soft locks feel tangled and dry and course. It was no surprise; war was never clean. But even so, the realisation that she was so vile made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"I need a shower," she mumbled, looking out of the shattered windows towards the Black Lake. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it, her brain jolting her back to the terror she had felt when Harry—her Harry—had been under there, as one of the Triwizard Champions.

Her mind jumped back to the present and she rose to her feet slowly, walking over to the window again and leaning out. Behind her she heard her mother making some gasped sort of cry to be careful, but she didn't pay the words much attention. She wasn't going to do anything stupid.

Forcing the thoughts of F—of _him_ —from her mind, she unsteadily leaned further out, watching the world below. A few people milled outside quietly, talking nervously. They looked jumpy; skittish. They seemed to flinch every few seconds, and one—she assumed it must have been a first or second year who had returned to stay with family—actually leapt onto his companion's side and clung on like a little, lost baby. Ginny couldn't blame them. After last night, they would all be that way for a while.

Oh, god. The last thought sent a wave of nausea over her, and she collapsed to her knees, her back pressed against the wall. She groaned and buried her hands in her grimy hair, shaking her head quickly.

"Ginny?" Luna asked, standing slowly, but Molly Weasley beat her to it. She rushed to her daughter's side, momentarily snapped out of her grief-induced daze at her daughter's gasp.

"Ginny, dear, are you alright? Are you hurt?" A dark shadow fell upon Molly's ageing but usually warm features. "Did anyone hurt you?"

Ginny shook her head. Of course she hurt—they all hurt—and she had experienced so many horrors in her two terms at school that year. But she didn't want to talk about that; some things were easiest kept buried away, hidden from view.

She was fine.

"No, Mum, I'm okay," she said quietly, not yet looking up. After a deep breath in, she then dared a peek as she said, "But Teddy... He's an o-orphan now. Like Harry. Remus and Tonks are... They're..." She shook her head and wiped her nose on her arm. "And Harry's his Godfather. There's no way Andromeda can raise a newborn baby full time, so he's going to have to help... But he's going to freak! As if he hadn't already been through enough, he's now got a godson to help with!"

Molly's eyes welled with tears. She looked over to her boys and sniffed, taking a few involuntary, sharp breaths. She then slid down the wall so that she was sat next to her daughter, her shaking hand clasping hold of Ginny's. She raised the other slowly and used it to brush a stray lock of hair away from the girl's face. "He's strong, Ginny. He'll be okay."

Ginny shook her head again. "He's never had a family. He won't know what to do, and that will scare him, and—"

Molly released her daughter's hand and pressed the finger instead to her lips, effectively shutting her off. When satisfied that Ginny was quietened, she then whispered, "But he'll have you to help him, won't he?"

Ginny was quiet for a moment. "Well, yes, but—"

"But nothing. That poor boy's been through hell and back. He's going to struggle. You've got to understand that. We..." She hiccuped ever so slightly. "We all have. But he's had it the worst. So nothing is going to be easy for him now. You're going to have to be there for him... but not push him too much. Give him time, but give him your comfort, too. Be there for him."

"Of course!"

Molly Weasley sent a watery, almost believable beam at her only daughter. "Then there is nothing more we can do," she murmured, pulling Ginny closer. "He'll have to work through this, for the most part, himself."

Ginny let out a breath and whimpered, "It's so unfair."

Molly raised her hand and began to stroke her daughter's hair gently, just as she had always done to her as a child. "I know, Sweetheart. I know."


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited talk is due...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto Chapter Two, and this is where the real story begins. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, please leave a review and a favourite! It means the world to me, it truly does.

_Molly Weasley sent a watery, almost believable beam at her only daughter. "Then there is nothing more we can do," she murmured, pulling Ginny closer. "He'll have to work through this, for the most part, himself."_

_Ginny let out a breath and whimpered, "It's so unfair."_

_Molly raised her hand and began to stroke her daughter's hair gently, just as she had always done to her as a child. "I know, Sweetheart. I know."_

**...**

Harry looked around quietly, wiping the grogginess from his eyes as he did so. He was at Hogwarts—in the Dungeons, he surmised from the décor, though how he had gotten there was an utter mystery—and everything was silent. Terrifyingly so, with the exception only of the tiny drip-drop-drip made by splashing raindrops from the rocky, cavernous walls.

He dared to take a step forwards, carefully slipping his wand out of his sleeve and into his waiting hand. It felt good to have his own holly wand back again—the hawthorn one simply didn't understand him like his own—but there was still something amiss with it. Something wrong. The wand itself felt unusually heaviy against his fingers, and suddenly Harry found that it was all he could do to not drop it on the floor.

Somewhere in the distance, a scream sounded. It was high pitched and desperate, punctuated only with whimpers and sniffles and gasps. He knew that noise; he'd heard it not so long ago, back when he and Ron had been imprisoned in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. That scream would haunt him for the rest of his days.

 _Hermione_.

He ignored the weight of the wand in his hand now, rushing forwards as fast as his legs could carry him. His seeker build was small and nimble; he practically zipped through the corridors, with those horrendous cries as his guide. But, after a few minutes of seemingly endless running, he found himself frozen in place when a second cry joined in. Higher pitched and yet laced with more confidence; the shouts which accompanied it were loud and rebellious, but they, too, quickly became nothing but blubbered whimpers and whines.

 _Ginny_.

Harry snarled and made to move forwards, his left hand grabbing the handle of the old Cleansweep broomstick which was resting lazily against the wall. He mounted it in one clear jump, urging the old, smoking broom to go faster. Faster, faster, faster!

Fiendfyre flared up through the corridors just as Harry finally escaped them, finding himself trapped in a small, cold room. Two chairs sat before him, facing away; with a swish of his wand they spun on the spot to reveal Ginny and Hermione, tied down with chains and gagged. Both made desperate grumbles at him, but he was powerless all of a sudden; he found himself flung against the wall, sinking into the brickwork as two wicked people stepped out from behind the chairs. Alecto and Amycus Carrow; the two worthless pieces of meat who had been Snape's deputies.

It was with horror, as Alecto and Amycus approached the girls, that Harry realised something horrid. Both Hermione and Ginny whimpered, shivering where they sat as the two Death Eaters approached them. All four were, suddenly, completely naked.

Harry snarled and thrashed and kicked and yelled, fighting desperately to free himself from the wall, but it was use. He was stuck, watching in horror as the two most important women in his life merely sobbed now, accepting their fates as the evil siblings loomed over them...

And then they stopped. Amycus' and Alecto's backs arched in agony, and Harry, too, screamed in mind-destroying pain. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and the pain subsided. He felt warm, wet liquid soaking the sweat-drenched top on his chest, staining it crimson. His neck had been ripped wide open to make a gaping hole. Almost unimaginable volumes of his own blood poured out, splattering the floor around him. And, when he feebly tried to make a garbled cry, he looked up into the pair of snake-green eyes which had taken everything from him!

A werewolf-like Lord Voldemort snarled, his face covered in thick, wet blood. He licked his lips, drawing away from both of the girls' lower regions, stalking slowly towards Harry with his hand stretched out—

And suddenly, in a blind panic, Harry leapt upwards. His eyes shot open and his hand grasped for his wand. He then flung his arm around in a perfect circle, his mouth opening as his signature spell fell upon his tongue, ready to be uttered. The tip of his wand came into contact with something soft fleshy; that was all the warning he needed.

"Expelli—" he began, his face contorted with panic before he came to his senses with a jolt. He froze, his green eyes staring directly into the warm, chocolate brown ones of his girlfriend.

He kicked himself mentally. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore. He had ended it.

"Ginny," he breathed, his body suddenly stuck in place. After a few moments, he then took a few quick, sharp breaths and slumped, shaking visibly. His arm dropped limply to his side, his wand rolling away from him so that it nearly fell from the bed. He didn't even notice, but she, at least, recovered just enough to snag it and place it back in his lap.

"Yeah, it's j-just me," she said, giving a smile that held touches of glee—but that was so undeniably forced that it was blatantly obvious he had terrified her. And it was no wonder! He had just murdered the most powerful dark wizard of all time, and was the literal Master of Death (not that anyone but he knew that). She had every right to be afraid. She _should_ be afraid. "I just wanted to come up and see how you were doing," she went on to explain slowly, cautiously. "You were grunting and fussing in your sleep, but none of the boys would do it. I didn't want to leave you."

Harry groaned, still trembling. He let his head fall back down to the pillow. "For good reason, it seems," he muttured, not able to meet her eyes. "Gin... I am so sorry. I can't excuse myself for that."

Ginny raised a brow. She sat down on the side of his bed tentatively. "Those reflexes have probably been the thing that kept you alive these past nine months," she said. "The thing that brought you back to me, in... well, mostly one piece. And, to be honest, I should have been more careful. Ron and Hermione warned me not to rush in here too quickly. They said you'd react like that if I did. I should've listened to them." A small, hurt frown graced her faces then as she said, "They know you better than I do, after all."

Harry sighed again and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. "That's not right for me to do that. To react like that. I would've blown you to smithereens!"

Ginny gave a small, nervous giggle. It was shortlived. "Of course it's not normal, Harry Potter," she said. "You've been on the run from the most psychotic villain the world has ever known. If you came out of an experience like that normal then my, god, Harry. I would be more afraid of that than you being... jumpy."

"I nearly killed you."

"But you didn't. You stopped yourself."

"I nearly didn't."

A terse silence suddenly appeared and the two simply sat, both painfully aware of the other. After a few seconds, Ginny then said, "You were having a nightmare."

Harry grunted by means of agreeing.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" she asked, scooting slightly closer to him. He shook his head quickly, his uncut mop of hair flapping about his face, before he then slumped on the bed and nodded again. He pushed himself up disinterestedly, sitting slouched.

"Neville mentioned that you—and some other girls—took detentions for the younger years," he began. Ginny froze slightly beside him, though she accepted his hand stiffly. "He said you came back looking... not actually that bad, compared to some."

Harry didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. But Ginny shook her head quickly.

"It was just psychological," she murmured, fidgeting a little. "They knee I didn't care if they hurt me, so... I'm fine, honest."

Harry was quiet for a moment before he then sighed. "Well, I think you can guess what happened in the nightmare, anyway," was all he finally said. He then took the chance to steal a glance up at her—but her eyes were focused intently on her fingernails suddenly. "Gin?"

Ginny looked up, her face suddenly void of emotion; unreadable. She didn't say anything for a few seconds but, just as the silence began to get slightly awkward, she said, "Harry, we... We need to talk."

Harry gulped, feeling a nervous sweat suddenly heading on his hands and face. Those were famous last words; he knew that much. "Yeah?" he grunted, a little more harshly than he had intended.

Ginny's eyes widened in shock, but she brushed the shock away quickly and nodded. "Yeah," she repeated, her gaze falling back to her lap. One hand raised and began to fiddle with the soft locks of hair that spilled over her hunched shoulders.

"So, uh, what did you want to talk about?" Harry asked, trying to sound as casual as he could. His voice was higher pitched than normal, though, and his words were hurried and poorly pronunciated.

"Us," Ginny replied, her voice equally strange. She had suddenly gone quiet; nervously so. Harry hadn't seen her like this since her days of being nothing more than his best friend's annoying, fan-girl little sister.

"Us," Harry repeated, nodding slowly as if trying to convey a message.

Ginny, it seemed, certainly didn't pick up on anything hidden meaning, though, instead letting her hand clap directly into Harry's cheek with a sharp _thwap_. He winced and squinted his eyes at the pain, but said nothing. "Don't just repeat my words!" she snapped, her voice suddenly even more shaky. "I'm being serious, Harry!"

He cringed. "So am I," he said, shifting slightly so that he didn't look at her. Oh, god, her displeasure sting—and in more way than one, he realised with chagrin, "but I have no idea what you want me to say."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. Had he been able to see her, Harry probably would have been crushed. "I want you to tell me why you never sent word to me!" she cried, her voice suddenly louder. She raised her hand and slapped him again, watching his back arch from the pain. "Why you think it's okay to leave your girlfriend with no word at all as to how you were, or where you were, or what you were doing..."

"I-"

Ginny slapped him again—on the other side of his face, this time. "Don't you dare, Harry Potter!" she shrieked. "I was mortified! All I knew was what you had told me before, and even then you tried to pretend it was a joke; that you were going to kill Voldemort! I thought for sure you had been killed doing God-Knows-What! There was no word. No one knew anything! You just vanished!

"And then, all of a sudden, you showed up at Bill and Fleur's. And I was at Muriel's at the time, and I swear, Potter, the only thing that kept me sane there was knowing that you were safe! And I watched the apparition point daily, waiting, waiting for you to come, to say hello, no matter how briefly!"

Ginny raised her hand again and, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw it coming. He flinched, waiting for he slap with his head bowed, but it never came. Instead, he watched as Ginny's body slumped and she leaned forwards, pressing her forehead to his shoulders. He stiffened, feeling her pounding her fists gently upon his back.

"But you never came," she said, sniffling. "And I knew you were busy, and I knew it was dangerous, so I learned to accept that... and then Bill turned up. And I knew then that you hadn't forgotten me, that you'd given Bill a note to give me, or something. But again, there was nothing, Harry. Nothing! Not even a spoken message!

"And then, after weeks and weeks of waiting, I finally hear some news. That you had gone again, to who knows where? And then, only a few hours later, I hear you had robbed Gringotts—Gringotts!—and had escaped on the back of a dragon! And then, just as I'm processing that, I finally find you at Hogwarts! And you just... pushed me away! Treated me like a little girl! I am just as much a part of the DA as everyone else, Harry! I fought with you at the Department of Mysteries! And yet you... you... didn't even trust me! I needed to fight, but you tried to smother me just like everyone else! Poor Ginny, weak Ginny, young Ginny..." She pounded her fists once again. It didn't hurt, but the repetition would surely leave a bruise. "I thought you knew me better than that, Harry. I thought you, of all people, would've supported me."

"Your under—"

"And then, just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse after... after..." She shook her head and groaned. "You then went and gave yourself to him! You gave yourself up to him—" Her hands pummelled his back heavily again. "—And you never even... You didn't say goodbye! We all went outside, and there he was, and you were _dead_! I thought you were dead, for real this time! And you never. Damn. Well. Said. _Goodbye_!"

Harry cringed with each subsequent thud against his back; not from pain but from the meaning each well placed pound held. Every blow felt like torture, his heart torn slowly, slowly with each one. He could feel her trembling, sobbing body behind him, and that only served to make it worse.

He didn't speak. He didn't dare, afraid that doing so would set her off again. And so he merely sat there, his back hunched over and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his own trembling hands. His body quaked a few times as a few sobs escaped him—but for the most part, he kept himself as still as possible, the inner turmoil his only focus.

And then, finally, Ginny stopped. She wept where she sat, then putting her full weight on Harry's back and snaking her arms around his chest. She buried her face in his filthy, bloodied mop of her, sobbing violently.

"Say something, Harry," she eventually whispered, now clutching at his sweaty shirt as if that was the only thing keeping him from walking back out to the forest. But Harry only shook his head, not even uttering the word "no."

The pair sat there in silence for a few more minutes, the world around them almost silent, with the only noises being Ginny's small sniffles, the sporadic gasps from Harry as he tried to keep himself calm, and the odd rumble of crumbling castle walls. It would have stayed that way, too, had Ginny not whispered quietly a few minutes later, "This talk went so much better in my head."

Harry only grunted in response.

"I bet," he murmured. He scooted away from Ginny's side slightly, shivering in discomfort when the pressure upon his back of her weight vanished. It wasn't long before she reached forwards again, though, and caught his hand with hers. She slowly let her fingers intertwine with his. He didn't fight her away, but didn't say anything either—although a huge surge of guilt rushed through his body when he noticed how much she was shaking now.

And then she sighed. She pulled back from him, sniffing a few times as she rose from the mattress. But Harry didn't say a word to her, and she didn't speak, either, until she reached the door.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. Harry looked up ever so slightly, the guilt settling over him weighing down even more heavily when he caught sight of her fiddling with her hair nervously. "I shouldn't have snapped like th-that. You've been through a lot." She paused, as if momentarily debating whether to add something else. She then shook her head and said, "Just... come and get some breakfast, maybe? Well, I suppose its more like brunch now—although everyone's body clocks are all over the place after everything that happened, so the house elves are kind of making any meal, so if you want lunch that would be fine too!" She took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm rambling. Just... come on down, okay? We'll talk later. You need your strength, and I don't think I'm going to help much in that regards at the minute."

And then, without another word, Ginny was gone, leaving Harry to his solitude.

He watched the doorway quietly, his eyes staring at the spot Ginny had just vanished from in complete and utter puzzlement. "What just happened?" he whispered out loud, and then the tidal wave of guilt and confusion and pain washed over him again and he collapsed back onto his bed. He clasped the pillow between his fingers and pulled it to his chest, hugging it as tightly as he could, as if his life depended on it. But he could not sleep; no, he merely sat there, rocking back and forth and back and forth as hurtful thoughts raced through his mind.

Then, in his solitude, he finally broke down. And Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world _twice_ , cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please, please leave a kudos, and follow and a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

Then, in his solitude, he finally broke down. And Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world twice, cried.

  
It had been hours since Ginny had left, and still Harry found himself quietly staring up at the ceiling. His four poster bed felt almost claustrophobic now, and yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to move from where he lay. In some ways, the distress was welcome; it served as a reminder of how much he had let everyone down, and a punishment for doing so.

There was a part of him—a very large part—that screamed in turmoil with every passing second, accusing him of being cowardly and selfish and naïve. Thoughts of, if only, ran through his head on repeat, not so unlike one of those Weird Sisters songs that would play on repeat on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Or, they had once; the war had stopped all of that, of course.

The war had taken everything, from everyone. And even now that is was finally over, he found himself still aching from the pain of it. So many deaths that could have been prevented. So much destruction that was never called for. So much heartache that the wizarding world would never recover from.

Harry groaned and rolled over. His stomach growled in protest at the lack of food—he really couldn’t tell when his last bite to eat had been at this point—but he paid it little attention. Briefly, the thought of Ginny crossed his mind; she had asked him to come down to breakfast. But he couldn’t face it; not yet.

For all of his life, he had been renowned around the world for being The Boy Who Lived. For Merlin’s Sake, he would certainly have preferred it if it had not been that way; the prophecy which had sealed his fate had spoken of two boys, both born at the end of July: himself and Neville Longbottom. It had been Voldemort who had personally chosen Harry as his equal, that fated night, and it had finally led to his true downfall. Surely, feeble little Neville would never have survived the things that Harry had been forced to do in the early years of his magical schooling.

But, equally, Neville had lived up to the role the day prior of the other choice for the boy who lived; he had, after all, been the one who made it possible for Harry to succeed in his mission of killing Voldemort, at long last. He had killed the final tie that had kept Voldemort immortal—his vicious pet snake, Nagini—with none other than the legendary sword of Godric Gryffindor; indeed, Neville had finally dispelled any doubts of his worthiness of a place in Gryffindor house. He was as much a hero as everyone else who had fought in the battle, and his outright defiance in Lord Voldemort’s face made him a changed man from the boy who had first stepped, bumbling, onto the Hogwarts Express in 1991 with his beloved pet toad, Trevor.

Now, Harry found himself at a loss for what to do. He had to leave this room, he knew that—with his already phenomenal fame, let alone now, he would be dragged out kicking and screaming if he didn’t by reporters. But he just didn’t feel ready. Too much had happened. Ginny hated him. The Weasleys, the only family he’d ever truly known, had lost one of their sons on the very same night that the other had returned. His godson, Teddy Lupin, had been left an orphan—just as Harry, himself, had been—after both of his parents had valiantly fought side by side. But a few weeks old, and already alone in this world.

Harry stilled for a moment, and a new frown creased his eyebrows. That wasn’t the case for Teddy; he wasn’t alone. His grandmother, Andromeda, would be around to look after him. She knew how to handle babies—but she couldn’t do it alone, and with her own husband another victim of the war, she would need all of the support that she could get. She had lost everything, other than that tiny child; if Harry could do just one thing right, it would be to be there for her. Remus and Tonks would never have died if only Harry had sacrificed himself sooner; he owed it to their memory.

Harry closed his eyes in anguish at that thought as the mirages who had accompanied him on his fateful walk into the forest cane to mind again. His mother and father, Lily and James; his godfather, Sirius; and his professor-turned-mentor, Remus. He thought of their youthful appearances; death, as Sirius had put it, really did seem quicker and easier than falling asleep. Indeed, even Albus—for all his flaws, Harry now realised—had told him not to pity the dead, but instead to pity the living. Would it be so bad just to lie here until he fell asleep and didn’t wake again? Dehydration would only take a few days.

No. No, he couldn’t do that, as tempting as the thought of joining them all seemed; he had a duty to make amends, and to care for the survivors of the war. Remus had said that he was proud to have sacrificed himself for his son’s safe future; Harry would ensure that little Teddy Lupin would grow up safe and happy to see that world. And he would find a way to power through and help every other mourner, too. He didn’t know how, and he wasn’t certain that his presence would be of much comfort, but he would try.  
  
He had to try. For their memories. And he could start by getting out of bed and getting something to eat.

The aches and lacerations and bruises which Harry had acquired over the past twenty four hours sent his head reeling as he rose from his bed, and his physical pain was helped very little by the dull ache on his back from where Ginny had pummelled him. He deserved it, he supposed; he had left her completely in the dark. It had half torn him to pieces to not know how she was, but at least he had her footprints on the map for the whole. But she had nothing; for all she knew, Harry’s body could have been slowly decomposing at the bottom of a pit.

It almost was, Harry supposed. If Ron hadn’t turned up at an uncharacteristically perfect time, Salazar Slytherin’s locket would have strangled him for sure.

Making the silent decision to try his best to avoid Ginny—oh, but how he longed to hold her in breathe in that flowery scent that he knew so well—Harry pushed himself up to his feet. His muscles felt like lead, as if he had just run three marathons back to back. His tongue and mouth was dry as a bone, and his stomach really felt as if it was caving in on itself by now. He shook where he stood, unsteady on his battle wearied body. After picking up his wand—the Elder Wand—from its position underneath his pillow, Harry braved himself heavily up against one of the four poster’s beams. He took a few deep breaths in, willing his legs to stay strong just long enough to get himself down to the main hall, and pushed himself back up.

It was a struggle to get to the door, but somehow Harry managed it. With sore fingers that felt almost locked in place, he gingerly opened it, taking a moment just to check it was clear before heading out into the corridor; call it paranoia, but he had been on the run for almost a year and wasn’t used to taking chances anymore. Then steeling himself once again, he slowly made the descent down to the Gryffindor common room.

As soon as he stepped foot into the space, the dull and unenthusiastic chatter silenced almost immediately. There were only a few people in there—most must have returned to the comfort of their own homes, over the shell that was now Hogwarts—but they all began clapping quickly, with wearied but genuine smiles growing on their faces. Harry grimaced, not making eye contact with anyone of them as he stumbled down onto the clearing.

“Oi, give the bloke a bit of space, yeah?” came a slightly gruff voice, and Ron—who looked scarily older and puffier in the face—rose from one of the couches. He stepped in front of Harry, scowling. “Don’t you think he’s had a tough enough time?”

Harry shook his head and placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder, pushing him aside. He glanced over at the couch, giving Hermione—who had obviously been perched on Ron’s lap—a small curl of the lip. It couldn’t be called a smile; he didn’t have the strength for that.

“It’s fine, Ron,” he mumbled, lowering his head as he slowly made his way forwards. A rogue bit of loose carpet got in his way and he stumbled, flinging out his arm quickly to catch himself. He straightened up as much as he could. “I’m fine.”

Ron glanced around the room, pointedly glaring at anyone who had the audacity to look in Harry’s direction. At the same time, Hermione rose quickly and folded her arms in frustration. Clearly, she was in just as bad a state as the rest of them; her bushy hair was now a wild mess of tangled and dirt and twigs and dust, and her face was bloodied and cut. Her clothes were torn almost to shreds, revealing scratched and bruised arms—though Harry found it interesting to note that she seemed to have applied muggle makeup to her arm, where Bellatrix’s gift had been carved, instead of covering it with magic.

“Harry Potter, you are clearly not alright!” she scolded, her voice quavering slightly at the end. “Look at you; you’re literally black and blue! You’re covered head to toe in blood and dirt! You need a warm, soothing bath, right now!”

Harry huffed but did cringe slightly when he looked down at himself. He shrugged it off.

“Don’t care,” was all he said. He turned away, wobbling on the spot once. He quickly righted himself, though did take note of the way in which his muscles were beginning to spasm slightly now. “I’m going to the Great Hall. You don’t need to join me if you don’t want to be seen with me looking like this. I really couldn’t care less.”

Hermione sighed. “Harry, that’s not what I meant,” she said, quickly catching up with him. She dragged Ron behind her roughly. “I just thought—“

“I’m fine, Hermione!” Harry snapped, gripping the Elder Wand in his wrist tightly. To their left, a couch spontaneously caught fire. “Oh, for—“

Hermione, momentarily stunned, shook her head. A quick aguameti from Ron extinguished the blaze. “Sorry, forget I said anything,” she said, stepping up to Harry’s side again. “Lunch would be a good place to start.”

Ron nodded, though with far less enthusiasm than he would have normally given at the thought of food. Harry cringed, suddenly remembering Ginny’s promise to meet him at breakfast, but shook it off. She would be gone by now, keeping herself busy with some other task that needed doing. She wouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t have to face her.

“Sure,” he said, heaving a foot forward unsteadily. He wobbled visibly; Hermione and Ron rushed to either side of him to offer their support. This time, he did smile ever so slightly.

Together, the three began the slow march down to the Great Hall. It was going to be a long day, that was for sure.


	5. Chapter 5

The walk down to the Great Hall was long and arduous. Though he was supported on either side by Hermione and Ron, Harry's legs were unsteady at best and trembled under the weight of his own body. No matter how hard he tried, he could barely stand up straight for more than a few paces; instead, he opted for walking hunched over, dragging each foot forward in a slow beat. The rhythmically tedious pace reminded him of a traditional funeral march, and it was with a pang of distress that his mind suddenly latched onto a long forgotten memory from his first day at Hogwarts, wherein Fred and George sung the Hogwarts song so passionately to the tune of a funeral march.

Irony was cruel that way. He never would have guessed, back then, that it would even have been possible for one of the two eccentric young men to die—but now, the infamous Weasley twins were a twin down. That thought alone really served to emphasize the mortality of everyone who had survived the war. After all, even in times of peace, no one was ever truly safe. Not really. Death could strike at any time, be it from Dragonpox or from a Death Eater.

Lost in thought, Harry continued his slow stumble, gradually finding the slightest ounces of strength as time passed by so that, by the time he finally stepped off of the last staircase—thankfully, the huge extent of damage that they had suffered meant that they had ceased to move as they would normally have done—he could walk without any additional support.

Though he wouldn't admit it, and though he kept shrugging off their attempts to support him once again, he was appreciative of the way in which Ron and Hermione walked only slightly behind him. What had he done to deserve friends so loyal?

His arms were heavy as he pushed open the doors to the sparsely filled great hall—somehow, the ancient wood had survived most of the damage that the rest of the castle had suffered—and stepped inside. It was with great relief that he wasn't confronted with the masses of dead bodies that had been in here only the night before; now, though most of the house benches were still pushed to the side, it was clear of the majority of the debris that had previously been in there.

One long table had been moved into the centre of the space and was laid out with a modest but generous selection of food. Harry's stomach growled hungrily, and at his side Ron's seemed to follow suit fairly quickly. Despite the fact that they had both not eaten in well over 24 hours, though, the thought of getting a slice of toast or a bowl of porridge seemed repulsive.

He didn't deserve to eat.

Harry groaned quietly. He wanted to dive in so badly—that bowl of porridge was steaming and looked oh so creamy—and make up for the past year of scavenged mushrooms and scraps. Equally, though, the thought made him feel selfish and ungrateful; dozens of strangers had joined forces with his friends and had fought and fallen on his behalf, and here he was, thinking about such self indulgent thoughts as getting something to eat.

His friends, it seemed, could see right through him. With a somewhat unenthusiastic clap on his shoulder, Ron stepped forwards and said, "You are allowed to eat, y'know."

Hermione quickly joined in and nodded her head, walking past Harry and over to the bowl of porridge. With a quick flick of her wand and an uttered accio, a small bowl flew over to her from the other end of the table; she caught it with ease and quickly spooned a large dollop of the thick, warm porridge into the bowl. Harry watched quietly, fidgeting on the spot as Hermione then levitated the bowl over to the side of the room. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him over, gently but with a firm grasp, and sat him down on the bench. The bowl landed in his lap, just as she floated one over for herself and Ron. The pair sat down on either side of him, relishing in the smell of the freshly made, nourishing food—but, despite their previous assurances that he was perfectly entitled to eat, all three just ended up staring down at their food dazedly and slowly twirling their spoons around in it.

It was as such that none of the trio, exhausted as they were, noticed the silent approach of a large and somewhat stiff looking tabby cat. Despite this, the cat still padded forwards, glancing around quickly before it turned to face them directly. The cat meowed quietly. When there came no response, the cat's eyes narrowed and its tail flicked; it sat down and scowled, yowling louder this time. This, at least, got the attention of the cat's companions. Once satisfied that they were watching, she then flicked her head and stood up on her hind legs, morphing into a towering, aged witch.

Minerva McGonagall was far paler than normal, and was showing her hundred years considerably now. Her wrinkles had deepened and her skin seemed to hang heavily off of her face, making her look half dead. Her eyes, though, had the slightest of glints about them, despite the deep scowl which she still wore. "I must encourage you three to eat something," she said, her words slow and heavy as if her throat was sore. "You should know that I cannot permit any of you to leave this hall until you have done so. I am sure the house elves would be most insulted if you let their victory porridge go cold."

Harry didn't say anything and only swirled his spoon once more. Ron shrugged non-commitedly, raising his spoon to his lips slowly; he wolfed the mouthful down, but there was no pleasure in his eyes at doing so. Hermione bowed her head and gingerly lifted her own spoon to her lips, then taking the mouthful reluctantly.

McGonagall scowled. “That was hardly satisfactory,” she said. “Eat.”

Harry frowned back at her. “We’re not kids anymore,” he said. He pushed his bowl away roughly and stood, his eyes glinting. Even at his tall and lanky height, though, he couldn’t see eye to eye with McGonagall. “I’m not in the mood to be bossed around.”

McGonagall’s eyes flashed in mild surprise, but the emotion quickly passed and she became stone-faced once again. “I have no doubt of that fact, Potter,” she said, bowing her head. “The same for the pair of you, too, Granger and Weasley. I don’t know what you’ve been up to this past year, but it has aged you. You’ve matured, all three of you—and that’s something I never thought I would say of you, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron’s eyes opened in surprise before a small smirk grew on his face. “Oh yeah?” he said, sitting forwards slightly. “Well, then; I guess you need to learn not to judge a book by its cover.”

”Arguably, that is not exactly the standard use of the phrase,” McGonagall replied, “but I do accept your point. I was wrong about you, and am ashamed that I ever had any doubts of your abilities. I do not know the full nature of the task that Albus left for you to complete, though fragments I have gathered from your speech, Mr. Potter. I can only hope that, one day, you might see fit to share the tales of some of your adventures with me.”

Harry, who was still on his feet at McGonagall’s side, snorted. There was very little humour in it. “Adventures,” was all he said. His three companions turned to stare at him, and he guffawed quietly this time. “That’s one word for it all, I guess. Adventures.”

”Potter, I—“

Harry shook his head. “Whatever. It’s fine. We had a great time on our adventures, thanks. Did you need anything else?”

”Harry!” Hermione screeched, jumping to her feet and rushing to Harry’s side. “There’s no need for that!”

McGonagall held up her hands. “It’s quite alright, Miss Granger; my word choice may have been somewhat... insensitive.” She hung her head. “I must apologise. I actually only came to deliver a message in person, but it seems in my haste I forgot to carry out my task.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Ron, now the only one left seated, leaned forward and said, “So, what d’you need the poor sod for then?” he snapped.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes in Ron’s direction. “Hence, Mr Weasley, my disbelief that you have matured over this past year. Regardless—“ She glanced over to the doorway of the Great Hall. “—I am still here to deliver a message. To the three of you, I suppose, but most of all to you, Potter.”

Harry, who was still stood with his eyes narrowed and arms folded, raised his brows. “Me,” he repeated. It wasn’t a question; more a sign of acceptance. This had been coming for a while now, he supposed.

”Indeed. From Madame Pomfrey. She’s told me to inform you that if you do not turn up in the hospital wing by Noon, she will personally find you and drag you there herself. She’s got a bed prepared for you already. She seemed quite displeased by the fact that you haven’t paid her a visit yet.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but McGonagall held up a hand. He found himself unable to utter a word, but not for magical intervention; the aged witch still held his respect, despite his admittedly foul mood, and her authority silenced him by itself.

”Let me finish, please, Potter,” she said, and a small smile appeared on her face once more. A youthful twinkle shone in her eyes. “And, by my assumption, noon has come and gone—so I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. Then, all of a sudden, a small trickle of amusement warmed his heart; he snickered, and his heavy eyes widened somewhat. “Thanks for the warning,” he said, and he glanced to Ron and Hermione. “I think I’m going to go for... a walk. Pomfrey’ll be nicer to you two. She just hates me.”

McGonagall folded her arms. “Potter, that’s not entirely called for. The poor witch just wants to wrap you in a permanent cushioning charm, is all.”

Ron, who had been quiet, snorted loudly into his porridge. Hermione spluttered, blushing profusely at having done so. Meanwhile, Harry merely fixed McGonagall with a curious state; a moment later, it morphed into a grin. An actual, heartfelt grin.

”Guess that’s probably it,” he said with a snicker. “Think I’ve made her past seven years a misery.”

Hermione laughed. “A misery? Harry Potter, I wouldn’t even be surprised if she did reserve a bed just for you!”

McGonagall shook her head and smiled. “I must say that I would be inclined to agree with you,” she said, nodding. “Anyway, I must be off. I had only intended to be here for a moment.”

She turned and pulled her wand out of her pocked. Before she could do anything with it, though, Hermione stood up behind her. “If you don’t mind me asking, Professor... Why did you approach us as your animagus?”

McGonagall laughed again. It was a little quieter this time. “Because I’m trying to avoid having to talk to all these people for a little while,” she said. “I haven’t stopped since the battle and honestly, I’d appreciate a minute to myself. Like this—“ She gestured at herself. “—I keep being hounded. At least as a tabby, I can go relatively unnoticed. So long as no one sees the spectacle markings then I can pass as a student’s cat.”

Then, without further pause, McGonagall was gone; replaced by a well groomed but tired looking tabby cat once again. She stalked off, tail swishing slowly and tiredly behind her. The trio looked at one another, none saying anything.

It was Harry who broke the silence. “I’ll leave you two to it. Think I had better listen to that warning; I wouldn’t put it past Pomfrey to try something on me.”

Hermione and Ron laughed and nodded, waving him goodbye as he turned to leave them. His bowl of porridge lay uneaten and his stomach growled in protest, but he still didn’t feel up to eating properly.

As he wandered, letting his feet carry them wherever they saw fit, he found himself pondering the events of the previous day. It had all happened so far and had been such a blur; he wasn’t entirely sure that he remembered most of it.

But if one thing was for sure—he needed to get away from people right now. He needed some time to be alone, where he could work out his problems himself. It wouldn’t be long before the press sniffed him out, surely, and then what chance would he have?

So, for now, he walked blindly, paying no attention to where he was being taken. He didn’t need to.


End file.
